**No Joy Without Struggle**
How on earth did you land yourself in this pickle, you daft girl? Wholl want you now with a baby on the way? And how dyou plan to raise it? Dont go thinking Ill lift a finger to help. I raised younow your child too? Not a chance. Pack your things and clear off out of my house!
Emily kept her head down, saying nothing. Her last shred of hopethat Aunt Margaret might let her stay just until she found a jobvanished before her eyes.
If only Mum were still here
Emily had never known her father, and her mother had been struck by a drunk driver at a zebra crossing fifteen years earlier. Social services were moments away from sending the girl to a childrens home when a distant cousin of her mothers, quite unexpectedly, turned up and took her in. With a steady job and a tidy semi-detached in Surrey, the guardianship was easily arranged.
Aunt Margaret lived on the fringes of a quaint market town, lush in summer, dreary in winter. Emily was always well-fed, neatly dressed, and no stranger to hard graft. Between the house, garden, and the chickens, there was always something to do. Perhaps she missed a mothers hugs and bedtime stories, but who had time for sentimentality?
Emily did well in school and later at teacher training college. Those carefree student years zipped by, but now they were overexams passed, degree in handand shed returned to the town she called home. Only this homecoming wasnt exactly festive.
After her tirade, Aunt Margaret finally simmered down.
Enough. Get out of my sight. I dont want you here.
Please, Aunt Margaret, just let me
No. Ive said my piece.
Emily wordlessly hoisted her suitcase and stepped outside. Had she ever imagined returning like this? Humiliated, cast out, and expecting a babystill early days, but shed confessed it anyway. She couldnt hide it any longer.
She needed somewhere to stay. Lost in thought, she wandered, barely noticing the world around her.
It was high summer in the Home Counties. Gardens brimmed with ripening apples and pears; golden apricots glowed in the sun. Heavy bunches of grapes dangled from trellises, and plump purple plums nestled under dark leaves. The air smelled of jam, Sunday roasts, and fresh bread. The heat was stifling, and Emily was parched. Spotting a woman by a garden shed, she called out.
Excuse me, might I trouble you for some water?
Martha, a sturdy woman in her fifties, turned. Come in, if youre not up to mischief.
She scooped a cup from a water butt and handed it over. Emily sat wearily on a bench, gulping it down.
Mind if I rest here a moment? Its boiling.
Course, love. Whereve you come from? That suitcase looks heavy.
Just finished uni. Hoping to teach, but Ive nowhere to stay. You wouldnt know anyone renting a room?
Martha studied herneat but worn, eyes shadowed with worry.
You could stay with me. Bit of company wont hurt. Rents reasonable, but pay on time. If that suits, Ill show you the room.
The idea of a lodger pleased Marthaextra cash never went amiss, especially in a quiet town like theirs, miles from anywhere proper. Her son lived up north and visited rarely, so winter evenings could drag.
Emily, hardly believing her luck, followed her inside. The room was small but cosy, with a window overlooking the garden, a table, two chairs, a bed, and an ancient wardrobe. Perfect. They settled on rent, and after freshening up, Emily headed to the local council offices.
Days blurred into weekswork, home, work. Emily barely had time to flip the calendar pages.
She and Martha grew close. Martha was kind, fussing over her like a mother hen, and Emily, ever-helpful, pitched in around the house. Many evenings, theyd chat over tea in the garden, because in England, autumn takes its sweet time arriving.
The pregnancy was smooth. No morning sickness, just a glowing complexion and a steadily rounding waistline. She confided in Marthaa tale as old as time.
In her second year, shed fallen for Oliver, the dashing son of well-to-do academics. His future was mapped out: degree, PhD, lectureshipsall under his parents watchful eyes. Charming, witty, and popular, he couldve had any girl. But he chose quiet Emily. Maybe it was her shy smile, her gentle hazel eyes, or the quiet strength of someone whod weathered lifes storms. Hard to say. They spent their remaining uni years inseparable, and Emily dreamed of a future together.
That day stuck in her mind. Waking queasy, certain smells turning her stomach, andohshe was late. How had she missed that? A pregnancy test later, two pink lines stared back. Exams loomed, and now this. How would Oliver react? Babies werent part of the plan.
Yet, a fierce love for the tiny life inside her swelled.
Little one, she whispered, cradling her belly.
Oliver, upon hearing the news, insisted on introducing her to his parents that evening. The memory still brought tears. In short, they suggested a termination and a swift departure post-graduation. Oliver had a future; she didnt fit it.
What they said to him, Emily could only guess. The next day, Oliver slipped into her room, dropped an envelope of cash on the desk, and left without a word.
An abortion never crossed her mind. She already loved this babyhers alone. Still, she took the money, knowing how much theyd need it.
Martha listened, patting her hand. These things happen, love. Not the end of the world. Youre brave to keep itevery babys a blessing. Might turn out for the best.
But Emily couldnt fathom forgiving Oliver. The humiliation, the cold dismissalit festered.
Time passed. Emily waddled like a penguin, counting down to her due date. Would it be a boy or girl? The scan was inconclusive. Didnt matter, so long as they were healthy.
In late February, on a frosty Saturday, her waters broke, and Martha whisked her to hospital. The birth was straightforward, and Emily cradled a healthy baby boy.
Baby William, she murmured, stroking his downy cheek.
She befriended the other mums, who mentioned that two days prior, the local police sergeants partner had had a girl there. They werent married, just living together.
You shouldve seen itflowers, chocolates, whisky for the midwives. He visited daily in a Land Rover. But they were all wrong for each other. She kept saying she didnt want kids, then left a note and vanished, claiming she wasnt ready.
What about the baby?
Bottle-fed, but the midwife said breast would be better. Trouble is, everyones got their own to feed.
At feeding time, they brought the tiny girl in.
Could anyone feed her? Shes so fragile, the midwife asked, scanning the room.
I will, poor lamb, Emily said softly, laying William down and taking the girl into her arms.
Oh, shes so little and fair! Ill call her little Charlotte.
Compared to sturdy William, Charlotte was delicate. Emily offered her breast, and the baby latched on hungrily before dozing off minutes later.
Told you she was fragile, the midwife sighed.
So Emily fed both babies.
Two days later, the midwife bustled in. The baby girls father had arrivedwanted to meet the woman nursing his daughter. Thats how Emily met Police Sergeant Oliver Hathaway, a man of average height with steady blue eyes and a no-nonsense demeanour.
What happened next became hospital legend, then town gossip, because the ending was one for the books.
On discharge day, staff crowded at the entrance as a Land Rover decked in blue and pink ribbons pulled up. A young sergeant helped Emily in, where Martha waited, then handed her a blue bundle, followed by a pink one.
With a toot of the horn, they drove off, vanishing round the bend.
Lifes funny like that. You never know how thingsll turn out. Sometimes, it throws you a curveball so perfect, youd think it was scripted
